


nothing short of magical

by UnAmusings



Series: Heaven Blessed [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Married Couple, Mpreg, Possessive Behavior, Pregnant Sex, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 22:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19913083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnAmusings/pseuds/UnAmusings
Summary: "Stop thinking so loudly," Jon grumbles, though the sweet note betrays him.Tormund nuzzles into the dark waves at his husband's crown, "Just remembering."Warmth spreads to his toes when Jon playfully tugs at a strand of hair, "Anything in particular?""Only how lucky I am to have this."





	nothing short of magical

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the first parts, though not technically necessary, you'll be missing out on hardcore, nitty gritty, motherfuckin' fluff. 
> 
> Title is from, " _The Mother,_ " by Brandi Carlile 'cuz it's gr8 and I don't care that I've already used it. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

The hearth is lit, even though Tormund can feel the temperate breeze at his back from the open slats. With such long summer days, the candles had stayed in the kitchen drawers until nearly midnight. But there is still flame in the pit from dinner, and Tormund is blasted with warmth when a particularly strong wind blows through the east facing windows. 

He can feel heat at his back before the arms can wrap around his waist from behind. Jon's hands snake over his torso until they settle to cup his ribs. With a deep inhale, Tormund feels the bone deep shudder wreck his body, elicited simply by a touch from his little crow.

Jon dips his head under Tormund's arm until he is nestled firmly into his side. The silence is peaceful. It allows him to settle from hours of mediating the settlement and planning hunting groups. Finally, after a busy day, coming home to put his son to bed and see his husband. 

Today, entering their hut had been a gift. Edur and Jon had huddled on blankets with scrolls sent from the Queen of the North for her nephew to read, and books that the Free Folk had scrounge from the rubble. Paper with Ed's horrible script overlapped by the samples Jon had made with his own neat penmanship. Even with all the knowledge at his feet, his son had his ear pressed to Jon's belly, trying to figure out if he could hear the baby's heartbeat. 

Tormund knew that every odd day that was only half as hectic, Jon would stay home to teach little Ed his letters and history. The mess in their common area was a familiar one. It was the sight of the twinkle in his husband's eyes watching their child so eager to be a big brother that had stripped the stress of the day away. 

Beside him, Jon stretches slightly before beginning to hum. Tormund knows the familiar beat, an old Free Folk lullaby that told of the Children of the Forest and magic. Slowly, Tormund twists until his husband's arms loop around his shoulders, while his hands settle at Jon's lower back. In time with the melody, they sway back forth. 

If someone had told him ten years ago, that the crow that had stumbled into Mance's tent would be the greatest thing to happen to him, Tormund would have bet his life it was a lie. For so long, he had been fighting and climbing the wall, that he had forgotten that living was more than surviving day-to-day. He had missed the birth of his sons and daughters, reduced to little more than a soldier in a war. Tormund had been so sure that he would have died against the dead, he never thought of a life after it all. 

Until Jon.

So much had happened, it took one final drastic tragedy for him to see it. When Jon died, seeing his wolf on that table, Tormund realized the only future he wanted was gone. Years later, he still wonders what gods were left to thank for bringing him back. 

"Stop thinking so loudly," Jon grumbles, though the sweet note betrays him.

Tormund nuzzles into the dark waves at his husband's crown, "Just remembering."

Warmth spreads to his toes when Jon playfully tugs at a strand of hair, "Anything in particular?"

"Only how lucky I am to have this."

Jon's gentle smile is so full of understanding, Tormund swears he falls in love all over again. There's a flash in those dark eyes, and he knows that Jon is remembering the sacrifices that led to this moment. Some are deep, ones that Jon never brings to light, but Tormund sees them at times, on anniversaries, or a too-calm night. Tugging him down, Jon brings their lips together, showing what words would never be able to say. 

Tormund deepens it, fingers digging into the dimples at Jon's back. The way Jon moans into his mouth, open and willing, is finer than any wine and twice as effective. Dancing entirely forgotten. Involuntarily, his little crow arches into him, the generous swell of his belly grazing Tormund, while he can feel his prick nudge at his thigh. Heat, unexplainable by the fire in their hearth, washes over them both. 

Pulling away with a gasp, Jon rests his head at the dip in his shoulder, "Ed asleep?"

He grins, "Out like a light the moment Ghost crawled into bed with him."

"Good," Jon's smile mirrors his own, "because I need you."

The words are punctuated with a nip at his collarbone, that tips Tormund from half mast to aching in his pants. Hands finally make their way to Jon's ass, grabbing large handfuls of each cheek to press their cocks together. In unison, their groans fill the empty spaces between them, if there is any left. 

Leading them to their room feels like the most natural thing in the world, Jon's hand in his own a lifeline. Somehow, clothes were left in a trail behind them. Their bed is still unruly from their morning romp, but Tormund sits anyway, leading his pretty, little crow between his open thighs. 

Tormund marvels his husband, taking in Jon's body like his own personal miracle. In black curls, a marriage braid twists from the top until it tapers to where Jon's hair settles just above his shoulder blades. His gaze travels downward, to darkened nipples that curve ever so slightly. The softness of Jon's body didn't stop there, it was in his hips. Wider than they had been five years ago, but just enough that Tormund only ever saw the difference in moments like this. His husband's tummy bows low, but there's a natural glow to it just like the rest of Jon: one of content.

He leans forward, dropping a kiss just above Jon's navel, the heated skin supple. Fingers stroke through his hair, pushing the few grey hairs at his temple into the rest of the red.

"I'm getting too old to keep up with your appetite," Tormund murmurs.

With a yelp, Tormund finds himself lying back on their bed, as Jon crawls over him. There's a glint in his husband's eyes that makes him want to writhe, to rut into the tight heat between Jon's legs. Straddling him, he knows Jon knows that his dick is resting in the curve of his ass, knows that Jon is doing it on purpose. 

Somewhat rough, he takes Tormund's hands to frame his belly, overlapped with his own.

"Not too old to leave me with a babe," Jon growls, all wolf and no crow, and Tormund's hips buck. "The whole village knows that I'm fucked well. No one questions that your pretty, young husband's tummy swells because of you."

Tormund sits up, hands never leaving their place, "You're absolutely _dangerous_."

Jon looks divine in the faint light, but mischievous in a way that will leave Tormund begging later in the night. Six years of marriage, not a dull day since their fateful night in front of the weirwood. 

"You want to know my favorite part?"

"What, my love?" Tormund responds, but mentally he prepares himself.

Before he can get an answer, Jon's thighs lift himself up and he sinks down on Tormund's cock in one fell swoop. Jon must have prepped himself earlier, though gods only knew when. To keep himself from shouting out at the sudden sensation of _tight-wet-slick-heat_ , he bites down on his husband's dusky nipple. Jon's groan from the dual stimulation is deep and throaty, vibration emanating from his chest. 

Both of them feel short of breath, the pleasure knocking the air from their lungs in the best way possible. Jon palms at his shoulders, clenching his fingers with every shift. Tormund had not even noticed when his hands had gripped under Jon's thighs, until he felt the light quivers in the muscle. 

"I get to see you walk around with _my_ braid in your beard, and I get to feel the kick of your baby," Jon answers, his lashes fluttering when he shifts slightly. "You're _mine_ , Giantsbane."

Unable to help himself, Tormund thrusts upward, leaning back on the bed for leverage to fuck his husband deeper. One hand steadies himself on Tormund's chest, while the other dips beneath his belly to support it as Jon falls back to meet Tormund in a feverish rhythm. 

On a night similar to this, Tormund remembers feeling the frantic need to pull Jon close and never let go. The Free Folk had only just returned to the True North, working to build their home again had taken precedent. Amongst all the busyness of their lives, one calm night with bracing winter breezes gave them time to finally celebrate their marriage properly. Tormund had taken Jon to the caves, filled the cavern with winter roses, and made love to his husband like tomorrow was a myth. 

Eight months later, Edur came into the world, quiet and so entirely new. The village celebrated his arrival as the first one born in their new home. Marking the beginning of a new era. 

A wave of lust pierces through him with a particular grind of his husband's hips. Carefully, Tormund flips them so that Jon's hair spreads across the sheets in a wave of pitch black. He throws one leg over his shoulder then clutches at Jon's supple hips to pull them down over his length. Fascinated, he watches every inch disappear into that slick heat. 

Jon grips at the sheets, nails threatening to tear through the fabric. Tormund knows the way his husband likes to be fucked, sure and deep, bordering on the edge of pain from the slow relief. Dark eyelashes squeeze on every pull out, then flutter when Tormund drives back in. Everytime Jon clenches around him, his belly shifts. At times a slight kick is visible through the skin. 

Words tumble from his mouth, "Love seeing you like this. Fucked out, 'n'so fuckin'pretty underneath me."

Arching, Jon wraps his leg around Tormund's waist, not a coherent thought evident on his face. His eyes are open now, hooded and full of lust as brown meet blue. They're glistening with an unshed wetness, and Tormund sees the overwhelmed sheen that twists those pouty lips in pleasure. 

Jon gasps, tears falling as his lips spread in that shy smile that is reserved only for Tormund, "Want a home filled with children-"

He muffles a scream by biting into his forearm when Tormund angles his hips just right. Some part of him wishes that Ed had stayed that night at one of his sisters', just so he could have heard that delicious sound wreck his little crow. Repeating in the same spot, Tormund snaps his hips forward reducing Jon to babble as he rolls his hips to meet Tormund's.

"Fuck, please, please. Want our children to grow s-surrounded by–do that again, again–by love. Never alone," Jon can't help the moan that rips through him. "Boys a-and girls with your hair, big and strong. Little ones with dark curls but freckled."

Tormund can practically see them, running around like maniacs. Playing and learning and training. He wonders if it's because Jon grew up in a castle filled with siblings, how he wants that for his own children. Tormund can't help admit that the calm of hearing children's laughter with Jon at his side would be the closest thing to paradise. 

Dropping Jon's leg from his shoulder, Tormund leans forward to frame his love in his arms without losing the rhythm. Warmth coils low in his belly, riding at the edge of climax with every clench of Jon's heat. His little crow worries at his lip until the skin is white under the strain, but their eyes stay locked on one another. 

Capturing those full lips with his own, Tormund swears he can taste hope and desire on Jon's tongue. Would promise his life that he feels a pulse in his fingertips where he pushes back those sweaty curls to kiss the apple of his husband's cheek. 

"Anything you want," Tormund grunts, snapping his hips fast and deep. "Two or ten, gladly."

The words unlock Jon as his whole body shudders, cumming untouched. Tormund can't help follow soon after, the grip of Jon's body pulling it out of him. Riding the waves, they both slow down in their rhythm but don't give up entirely. 

Instead, they kiss, coming down from the high in each other, as much as they are with one another. It's alarming how sensitive his body feels, he can only imagine how Jon feels. Gently, he maneuvers them until Jon is curled on his chest, fingers playing with the red hair there. Silence wraps around them like a blanket, hardly interrupted by their heavy breathing. 

Jon disrupts it with a whisper, "I meant it."

Tormund uses the arm Jon makes for a pillow, to skid light patterns into Jon's side with a fingertip. The other comes to cup his tummy. He can feel Jon's eyelashes flutter, and his eyelids do the same. 

Before he feels the last of consciousness slip away, he murmurs, "So do I."

**Author's Note:**

> _Fluff and smut! Fluff and smut!_
> 
> Aint my first time at the rodeo, but fluff still gets me going ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Also smut is exhausting.
> 
> Question: I have 110 ideas, but do you want more of this or meet baby n°2? Y'all know I got the fluff either way. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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